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By Parv Agrawal Mid-winter. Chattering teeth surrounded by spent fog, sighed out and cigarette-scented heat. Intense red is scratched around the traffic It blinds the eye and screams. You feel the liquid light now,  but it does not enter like before. Rain drowns the sound of drums  and the riffs of electric guitar.  Car horns shout  and the sleepless city charges. This time, the noise outside stalls at your skin. You’re not what you used to be. You’re engulfed to become a par

By Parv Agrawal Midnight took over as he walked along a loudly silent gravel road The tungsten street lamps flickered, on then off, and the restless steps echoed. Echoed through the hollow wishes, Wishes, an anvil to his heart. They berate him till he can't breathe, Berate him till he falls apart. He reached his house and sat down, Preparing himself to endure Yet another sleepless night, Yet another endless chore. Gazing at the moonlit sky, He found the stars less bright. But

By Parv Agrawal A passing airplane and birds flying in a chain A bouncy castle and the city hassle. 30 minutes of screen in 2016. A plain heart, a piece of art A trampoline park and a childlike spark The will to grow, from head to toe.  A rare cup of tea, smiling with glee A bright day in May and a “Mom! I’m going down to play” Patter and chatter and a relay race The look of a soft, untethered face Birthday parties, pizza and friends Not aware of cruelty and ends Absence of o

By Marcella Leff I am a highly sensitive soul. When you cry, I feel the toll. Your sorrow seeps into my skin, I wear your ache like it’s my own sin. I sense the weight you always bear, each silent grief, each whispered prayer. Your pain is raw; your wounds are real. I feel what you refuse to reveal. I cherish all that breathes and grows, the scent of rainbows, the bloom of a rose. I feel the flowers stretch and rise, beneath the hush of morning skies. Nature grants me sweet r

By Marcella Leff Your voice is like clear water, that dripped upon many stones,  in the mountain woods quiet and silent, where stillness stood alone.  Your touch is like flowers whose aromas invite  in the sanctuary of my garden, where there’s quiet in night. Your gentleness is like balm, that soothes an angry soul, amid the stormy sea, where there was no control. Your kisses are like lightning making me tremble from head to toe, unmatched by its distant thunder, where rain c

By Marcella Leff I climbed hills where silence meets the skies  and saw stars like lanterns in disguise.  The wind grew still; clouds began to rise,  revealing gates no mortal tongue lies.  A golden hush fell when a light broke through and it might be a song my soul cries  . The trees were flamed but none has yet burned,  Each leaf is a truth the wind had learned.  No shadow fell and no branches turned,  just holy light that all roots had yearned.  A voice sang out when peace

By Marcella Leff We laugh and chat, secrets we keep, Your smile's a sunbeam, warm and bright. Movies at night, hands side by side, but love unspoken, my tears I hide, yearning burns and can't be denied, and your eyes show no light. But in my eyes, a different dream, my feelings trapped and locked inside. Your soft touch is a sweet release, I crave your warmth, a silent peace, a gentle kiss, my only plea. With silent tears, I hide. Jealousy burns within my chest. A lonely whis

By Marcella Leff I am an old soul. I do not need to be told, for I walk my solitary ways and cannot be swayed. It’s not being stubborn. There are social rules that govern of peers that make friends of which I cannot depend. I’ve been mature since birth, searching for grown-ups on earth, more in common with them. Among adults I am a rare gem. My own age group I avoid, celebrity gossip I never enjoyed. Antisocial was what I was called, never engaged in their urban sprawl. Other

By Marcella Leff Loneliness settles deep in my soul. Broken pieces drift apart, twirling in a mental spiral— fragments lost to those who leave, each departure carving out my heart. In loneliness, I search for someone to fill the void. Sometimes, it’s a love long gone— a fleeting joy, now echoing in the hollow. Other times, I seek to fill the hours, comforted by who I used to be. Reinventing self is a steep climb; that’s when the shadows gather, and I long for the old me. I gi

By Marcella Leff In the autumn of our lives, the shadows grow long. A tapestry with threads of grace brings hope that survives, that another love may come along, sometimes at a slower pace. At 74, my steps shuffle and slow, but resiliency is still inside. A lifetime at times displaced, with wisdom that continued to flow where memories reside with sorrows barely traced. In the laughter lines on my face, Love, like Spring oaks has formed with roots unwavering and strong. My who

By Marcella Leff Physically I’m not what I was, but it’s my body. It moves slower now. That’s the work of time. I speak less often, but I still have a voice. low, steady, full of memory. I’ve lived long enough to know what grace feels like: not loud, not showy, not alone. They say the old are always alone but I am crowded with lives inside this body- lovers, children, storms, and grace that came unbidden, like mercy through time. I do not mourn what’s gone. Memory is not a wo

By Marcella Leff Sadness creeps on dissonant feet, playing chords that never resolve. It whispers low, intent on deceit, as if the volume starts to dissolve. My darkness returns. All music sounds far away, my senses trapped in fractured glass. An exhausted adagio tries to play- like water drops that fail to pass. Inertia slips beneath my skin. This melody feels like memory, echoed from a frozen mind. My senses move reluctantly, in slow-motion, misaligned- stuck on an empty, b

By Sheryn Sek Suet Ying Digging through the piles of scattered paper in the box, I encountered a sealed envelope with a smiley face sticker on top, dedicated to me. Confused, I carefully tore it open and read the messy handwriting in crayons that trembled across the page — once, mine — asking the one question I never thought I would see again: “Was it worth growing up?” My brain froze for a long time. How long had it been since I wrote this letter? The question felt like it h

By Małgorzata Hernik Eyes — piercing, certain, warm, holding the quiet beauty of a soul. Lips — soft, expressive,  sometimes choosing silence instead of words.  A voice of velvet and depth,  whether whispered or spoken aloud,  his face shines in my eyes,  casting light and hope into my soul. When he is silent,  our hearts meet in wordless dialogue. And when he laughs,  joy pours over me like an ocean worth diving into. No many words are needed — just subtle, tender gestures.

By Małgorzata Hernik Once, I lost my most precious box —  a box filled with hopes,  expectations,  dreams,  faith,  hope,  and love. I lost what was most valuable inside it,  what was worth fighting for,  burning for,  and becoming flame for. I lost the courage I no longer know how to make peace with.  I lost the childlike spirit  I ache for desperately.  I lost the joy of living,  when everything felt simple, reachable. I lost desires — the ones we are born with  but don’t a

By Małgorzata Hernik The night was thick as ink… and my only companion was a humming machine that had already betrayed me six times. Seventh day at its side now… sometimes sitting, sometimes lying next to it, wondering what exactly is wrong with me. The keyboard that used to make everything glide—softly, cleanly… is it really not helping now? I drum my short nails against the Lenovo’s shell. The sound is more like a horse’s hooves on asphalt than the drama of a loyal, shell-s

By Aivery Schellenberg Reach for the stars they say Blindly jump in hopes to just graze the small amount of dust  I feel the ripping, as I pull from my bones.  But yet I am not crying, just empty and cold. Nobody sees when I say I’m tired It means that I slept badly. That I'm drowning and all these hands push me down further. But no, they see me and discard my state, Because it’s someone else’s weight, Because I have power twined into my words. They try to grab at anything th

By Aivery Schellenberg I used to think of myself as a wolf. So, I let myself walk alone. Bred to fight this world on my own, I thought that strength with an individual power. I sought recognition But I had a need to devour.  I prided of myself on my limit of trust,  because somehow it made me tough.  But the more I think about it,  A lone wolf,  Is not what nature intended.  A wolf has a pack, Bred for love and protection. An overwhelming sense of dominance over others,  A se

By Aivery Schellenberg I have moments when it’s hard  To control the darkness inside. The moving shadows forming what's left of my disturbed mind.  The urges to watch it all burn,  Coughing up my dirty blood. When my muscles begin to shake By untamable rage. Every spoken word is dripping with sin. Yet I clear my throat and Refuse to be pulled away. Seduced by a feeling of utter madness. Ravishing in the dangerous tides That willingly sinks me beneath its layers. Where the wor

By Aivery Schellenberg Every line created through my hurt, Every verse sung to dull my mind. To pretend that I’m alright. Every book,  Every page,  dedicated to my weary soul. Every empty note,  Every letter, That read ‘to my dearest’ I wrote Reaching for a hand That had long let go. Cut down and broken,  The air caught in my lungs. Step by step I walk barefoot Over burning coals. Every word I write Impure but just, Every scratch of the pen Relives my mind. Every line made fo